And now, please meet my protagonist, Tai Randolph — an almost-thirty caramel blonde with a new job, a new hometown, a new man, and a penchant for trouble. She's smart, aggressive, tattooed, and Southern all the way to the middle. So . . . I'll let Tai take it from here.
You
want me to introduce myself? Really?
I
mean, I’m glad to share — nobody’s ever
accused me of being shy — but most people
ask about Trey. What’s it like having a former SWAT-cop boyfriend? Does he ever
let you drive the Ferrari? What kind of gun does he carry?
For
the record, he packs an immaculately maintained Heckler and Koch P7M8, and I am
almost as good as he is with it. I have yet to drive the Ferrari, however — he
gets nervous palpitations at the thought. And it is utterly awesome having a
boyfriend with Special Ops skills, especially since he’s willing to teach me
the tricks of the trade. Like how to perform a Krav Maga takedown or hit center
mass with a .38 revolver. Trey is a challenge (and I’m not just talking about
his brain rearrangement either) but he’s totally worth it. And I’d say that
even if he didn’t have those gorgeous blue eyes.
I’m
finally beginning to get my bearings in my new hometown. Atlanta is a sprawling
maze of construction, still smarting from the beatdown General Sherman handed
it during the Civil War. It’s often stubbornly quaint — every other street is called Peachtree Something-Or-Other — but you’d better conjure up some NASCAR mojo
if you want to survive the freeways. Plus there’s money here — old money, new money, dirty money.
My
days are pretty routine, assuming there are no fresh corpses on the ground (don‘t
laugh — this happens to me far more often
than the law of averages should allow). I am the half-owner and sole proprietor
of Dexter’s Guns and More, in Kennesaw, a small city north of the metro area
where every head of household is required by law to own and maintain a firearm.
I kid you not. Georgia's enthusiasm for firearms is good for business, but it does create a certain . . . havoc. Let's call it havoc.
The
“more” in the shop’s name refers to the Civil War antiques and replica
re-enactment gear that I sell. I
inherited it from my Uncle Dexter, who left it to me and my brother Eric, a
corporate psychologist who lives in Atlanta but who wants nothing to do with
it. He refers to my career as “arms merchant for anachronistic rednecks.” He
says this as if it’s an insult.
Anyway,
most of my working hours are spent in the shop working on ATF paperwork and
trying to keep the books in the black. My customers come from all walks of life
— hunters, cops, stay-at-home moms — but the
largest slice of the client demographic belongs to Confederate re-enactors. One
of my favorite tasks is tracking down authentic Civil War-era weapons and accessories
for them. Especially underwear. I have a proprietary source who makes the
finest circa-1860 reproduction long johns in the Southeast.
After
work, I kick back at Trey’s place in Buckhead, watch the Midtown lights come
out from his thirty-fifth floor balcony. And if he’s off being Mr. Corporate
Security Agent, I hang with Rico, my best friend from way back. Our nights aren’t
quite as wild as they were growing up together in Savannah — we’re
both semi-responsible adults now — but
nobody keeps me grounded quite like Rico.
Well,
there’s Garrity. Detective Garrity, Trey’s former partner and
slightly-estranged best friend. That man has a heart as big as Stone Mountain,
but he’s got a temper as fiery as his hair. I can usually find him on the shop's
doorstep, lecturing me at length on why I shouldn’t tamper with official
investigations, question suspicious people, or use the phrase “life or death”
around Trey.
My
new life keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. If I had more time, I’d tell you
about the reticulated python or the KKK sniper or the freaking tornado that
chewed up the Confederate cemetery just down the road from me. Rico says I
should write a book. I might . . . as soon as things calm down. Which isn’t
looking likely, unfortunately.
* * * * * * * * * *
(A previous version of this post appeared at Dru's Book Musings. You can find that HERE, along with Tai's second visit to Dru's page, which you can find HERE.)
Visit other mystery authors also introducing their characters:
A Good Girl: A Charlie McClung Mystery by Mary Anne Edwards
For Charlie McClung, going home to Virginia with Marian was supposed to be a joyous occasion, but upon arrival at his childhood home, he’s met with a note instead of his family: “Don’t worry, Love, we’re all okay. Come to the shop. A dead girl was found in an armoire delivered just now. Huggies, Ma.”
Charlie is quickly recruited to help solve the murder of a young girl who was on the path to becoming a nun. The suspects begin to mount as Charlie delves deep into the girl’s life, revealing a sordid and ugly side of the town’s good girl.
Get introduced to Marian Selby of The Charlie McClung Mysteries HERE.
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